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Filming the Scafells: A labour of love

Our incredible coast

Our incredible coast

Shoreline adventures

Whether you enjoy birdwatching, invigorating coastal walks or sampling the finest, freshest local seafood, this beautiful, coastal landscape has something to tempt you.

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The location of Britain’s favourite view at Wastwater

Poems by Tony Crowther

Iron Town by Tony Crowther

Millom at night was quite a sight,
With the ironworks in full swing.
The sky was aflame, from furnace and train.
As the ore was wheeled in.

Showers of sparks, explode in the dark,
Like a thousand shooting stars.
While the haematite boiled, scorched workers toiled.
Producing the pig-iron bars.

While under the sea, on bended knee,
Miners are hacking out ore.
Within pillars and stalls, they create vast halls.
Endeavouring, to search for more.

Then in sixty-eight, an awful fate,
Befell, this small mining town.
Jobs would be lost, at a terrible cost.
With the ironworks closing down.

Within half a year, they faced their fears.
Hodbarrow mines were no more.
The last shift went down, deep underground.
Death to the Cumbrian ore.

The mines, now gone from this small town.
But the memory, still lives on.
The miners lost, the jobs it's cost;
And pride still soldiers on

Still, I feel proud, when heard out loud,
A Millomite born and bred!
I think of the mines, of all the hard times;
And the tears, this town has shed.

The Wrecking Of the Coniston by Tony Crowther

The mist moves silent over the waves,
Soothing the dead, in a watery grave.
Long time now since she went down;
Those few brave men so cruelly drowned.
So close to land on tempestuous sea,
With howling gales, that mute their pleas,
For the courage to face their destiny.

She carried a cargo of blood red ore,
The souls of her crew, and a whole lot more.
Was it to Barrow, where she was bound?
Till the waves, slammed home and ran her aground.
Fear took hold of the crew so brave,
They knew their lives could not be saved.
And all was lost, beneath the waves.

The lighthouse blinked and shone out bright,
From Hodbarrow point, that filthy night.
Revealing high waves and driving rain,
Whilst breakers smashed over, her battered remains.
The crew deceased, have left her unmanned.
The boat sat upright, and stuck on the sand,
As foaming white horses, race up to the land.

And when the storm, was finally done.
Abating; with the rising sun.
The saddened townsfolk gathered there,
And hung their heads in mournful prayer.
Grown men trembled and women cried,
For those who sailed out on that tide,
The gift of life for them denied.

But time, and tide for no man waits;
Each one consigned, to their own fate.
The wreck now buried out of sight,
Not a trace remained, of that tragic night.
While seagulls, circle, up on high.
The wind and waves, heave gentle sighs,
As decades slowly pass on by.

Then after more than seventy years,
The long sunk boat now reappears.
Arising from her quicksand tomb,
A stark reminder of her doom.
Again she rides the wind and waves,
A lonely marker, to mark the graves,
For those whose lives could not be saved.

And still she sits upon the sand,
Trapped between the sky and land.
Her broken bows point out the way,
But in the Duddon she will stay.
On stormy nights down by the sea,
The wind still carries the sailor's plea,
For caution, on the Irish Sea.


Whitehaven - the perfect day out
Millom & Black Combe
Cockermouth
Ravenglass

Brian Sherwen Photography

Many images on this website have been supplied to us by Brian Sherwen.